


Capture this Moment

by gelowo93



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Getting Together, M/M, figure skating bitty, hipster photographer Jack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-09
Updated: 2015-04-09
Packaged: 2018-03-22 02:40:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3711760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gelowo93/pseuds/gelowo93
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once the NHL season is over, Jack goes to visit his old teammates back in Samwell for a few days. He thought he'd be able to relax and spend some time with whoever was staying at the Haus over the summer, he wasn't expecting to get a boyfriend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Capture this Moment

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thanks to Josh for the beta, and thank you to Dynah for the French translation. Any remaining mistakes are entirely my own.

Jack slept for a week after they lost the playoff game.

He wasn’t upset that they’d lost; the team had played well and he’d never even dreamed that he’d get to the Conference Final in his first year of playing in the NHL, so losing there was still better than he’d expected.

The Aces had lost their Conference Final match too, and as much as Jack told the media that there wasn’t any competition between him and his former linesman, that they were at different stages of their NHL careers and there was no point comparing them, it was a lie.

It didn’t matter though. Come October the new season would start and nothing that had happened this season would matter. Jack had the summer off to train and get better so that next year the Falconers would make it to the Stanley Cup Final, and this time they would win.

However, Jack had a week off to relax before his summer training programme began. He had plans to drive up to visit his parents in Montreal at the end of the week, and that gave him a couple of days to do what he wanted.

Jack grabbed his phone from his bedside table, and after a couple of minutes of reading old texts in bed, he knew how he wanted to spend his precious few days. Not wasting any time, he shaved his play-off beard – not that it had grown into much of one – packed his sports bag with what he’d need for a few days away, and was soon in his battered old car driving towards Samwell, MA.

He pulled up outside the Haus less than an hour later, smiling as he did so. He’d only done the drive up to Samwell once or twice the previous year before the season had started, but even so, the journey back had a real sense of coming home, much more than going back to Montreal ever had, or even going back to his flat in Providence after a road trip with the team.

Jack had to stop himself from sitting in the car and staring at the Haus, reminiscing about the time he’d spent here; if he stayed out here too long then someone would see him before he got the chance to surprise them. It had been hard being so close but being too busy to visit, though. He’d missed his old teammates – his friends – and their odd quirks.

Honestly, he was surprised that there wasn’t anyone outside on the grass, or up on the roof. Whenever jack had spent any time here over the summer it had always been too hot to stay inside. Maybe he’d picked a bad time and everyone was out? Or he’d got his weeks confused and everyone had gone home? The latter was certainly a possibility. Now he didn’t have matches every other day, the days seemed to keep slipping by Jack without him noticing.

Deciding that now he was here he might as well try, Jack got out of the car, dragging his bag with him. He slowly made his way up the path to the front door, trying to get a look in the kitchen window to see if Bittle was in there. The window was open, and Jack could hear the sounds of someone moving around and opening and closing cupboards, but he couldn’t see who it was.

Jack knocked loudly on the door and waited.

There was a muffled shout of “I’ll get it!” and the growing sound of footsteps. The door opened, revealing Holster.

 Holster paused for a heartbeat, before shouting:

“Well, look who’s come to grace us with his presence.”

Before Jack knew what was happening, he was being pulled into a hug.

“I… erm…”

“Good to see you, bro.”

“Good to see you, too,” Jack said when Holster released him. “Didn’t think you’d still be here.”

“I’m not. The rest of my family is visiting relatives in Boston but I’ve managed to get away for the day. Lardo’s here, too.”

Holster’s shout had piqued people’s curiosity and a small crowd had gathered behind him in the hallway. It looked like everyone on the team who had stayed in Samwell was there: Lardo, Chowder, Nursey, Ollie, Wicks, and Einhardt. Jack scanned the crowd quickly, catching the eye of a couple of frogs whose names Jack didn’t know but who were in various states of shock. Jack’s heart dropped slightly when he couldn’t see the strawberry-blond hair and big brown eyes he was looking for.

Jack raised his hand in greeting and dropped his sports bag to the floor, ready to be assaulted by hugs from his former teammates. Lardo was the first to break out of the group. Her hair had grown out even more since the last time Jack had seen her, and it was now chin-length. She grinned up at him.

“Thank God you got rid of that awful beard, man,” Lardo said into his chest as she hugged him.

“There was nothing wrong with my beard.”

“Sure there wasn’t.”

“It looked like something had died on your chin,” offered Holster. Jack turned around to mock glare at him and was about to make a scathing retort when a familiar southern accent spoke,

“What’s going on?”

Jack’s head snapped round to look towards the doorway into the kitchen just as Bittle popped his head out. His expression went from confused to shocked (involving his mouth dropping open into a comical ‘O’ shape) to unreserved happiness with his mouth breaking into a grin that lit up his entire face.

“Jack!”

Bittle had a pair of headphones in one hand, which explained why he hadn’t heard the initial commotion. He was wearing an oven glove on his other hand, and he had an apron on, covering up his shorts and shirt, which Jack recognised after a moment as the Falconers jersey he had sent him for his birthday. Jack’s face broke into a smile of its own accord.

Bittle disappeared before Jack could say anything. He heard the sound of movement in the kitchen, and when Bittle appeared again, he was without the apron and oven glove. He as good as ran into Jack, throwing himself into Jack’s arms.

Jack only just managed to stop himself falling over from the momentum.

“Hi.”

Bittle pulled back from having his face in Jack’s shoulder just enough to look up at him. Jack looked down at Bittle, and suddenly nothing else existed apart from Bittle’s too bright eyes, his fringe sticking to his forehead slightly with the heat, and ear-to-ear grin that was equally ridiculous and endearing.

“Oh my goodness, you didn’t say you were coming!”

“I only decided about an hour and a half ago. I thought I’d surprise you.”

“You did that. It’s a good thing I had a pie baking anyway,” Bittle laughed. He took a step back, drawing away properly this time. “Which should need taking out of the oven about now, if you’ll excuse me, Mr. Zimmermann. Don’t you go disappearing!”

Jack laughed as he watched Bittle head back into the kitchen.

Jack finished greeting everyone, giving out hugs and fist bumps. When he’d greeted everyone except the two frogs, Jack turned to them, and they immediately went wide-eyed and started chattering nonsense at him. Jack just smiled and shook their hands.

He’d forgotten what it was like when people got star-struck around him. Chowder had –eventually – grown out of it, and the majority of people he had met in the NHL were curious about him, or tried to size him up at their first meeting, rather than be intimidated by him. In fact, he’d met several people who had tried to intimidate _him_. Clearly they hadn’t got the memo about him being Bad Bob’s son; he’d been meeting NHL stars since he could talk, and trying to scare him like he was eighteen and fresh from the draft wasn’t going to work.

Still, while having people be star-struck around him was a significantly better reaction than that, it still made Jack uncomfortable. So, when everyone else migrated back to the den to carry on playing video games, Jack wandered into the kitchen.

It smelled of apple pie, just like Jack remembered it. He took a deep breath in. Bittle must have heard because he glanced around from where he was washing up. He smiled at Jack, a quick blink-and-you’ll-miss-it twitch of his lips, but Jack saw it all the same.

“You should join the others in the den, you don’t want to waste your time here watching me clean.”

Actually, Jack was pretty sure he’d do anything if it meant being near Bittle, but he wasn’t brave enough to say that.

“I don’t mind. Do you need any help?”

“Hmm… you can start drying.” Bittle threw him a towel, and Jack went to stand next to him, picking up a baking tray from the drainer and setting to work.

“I see you liked your birthday present,” Jack said.

“Oh, yeah.” Bittle blushed, and it seemed to Jack that he was deliberately focussing on what he was washing in the sink.

“What’s wrong?”

“What? Nothing! It’s just… erm… a little awkward. I’m wearing it today and you show up.”

“At least I know you’re not wearing it because you knew you’d be seeing me.”

Bittle laughed. “True. How long were you planning on staying? I was thinking we might be able to get everyone together and go skate at Faber for a bit, if you’re not in a rush to get back…”

“I’m driving up to Montreal on Thursday, so I thought I might as well set off from here.”

“Thursday? But it’s – you want to stay for a couple of days?” Bittle turned to look at Jack and froze.

Jack grinned at the look of shock on his face. “Yeah, if no one minds, that is. I don’t mind sleeping on the couch.” Bittle’s face hadn’t unfrozen yet, and Jack had to refrain from laughing. “Going for a skate at Faber sounds good. I don’t think Holster has his skates with him, though.”

Jack was pretty sure the entire street could hear when Bittle shouted “JACK LAURENT ZIMMERMANN, YOU WANT TO STAY FOR A COUPLE OF DAYS AND DIDN’T LET ANYONE KNOW SO WE COULD CLEAN?”

***

Bittle and Jack – they’d had a thing going on for the last several months. Jack wasn’t too sure what it was: they’d talk to each other every day, even if it was only a good morning text, or to tell the other something funny or interesting that had happened that day. They talked properly every few days, mostly in the evening when they both had downtime, and they’d text until Jack got fed up of typing on his phone and would ring Bittle. Bittle’s voice was warm and comforting, and Jack would smile whenever he slipped into his Georgia accent, and more often than not Jack would fall asleep while Bittle chattered on, because there was something about his voice that made Jack feel like he was home.

Jack was perfectly aware of the fact that he had a crush on Bittle. Being honest to himself and admitting things that he might have learnt to not acknowledge as a child (see: needing help, failure, liking boys) had been pretty high on the list of issues his therapist in rehab had wanted to help with. So when Bittle had managed to worm his way past Jack’s many defensive layers and stay there, Jack had known he was a goner. Here was a boy who knew about his past and his anxiety, but who still cared for him, and knew when he was having a rough time without needing to be told, and baked him things because that was the only way he knew how to help.

 Jack hadn’t been able to stop himself falling for him.

***

They didn’t go to Faber in the end, deciding that they didn’t want to leave Holster and Lardo out, neither of whom had skates and who were only visiting for the day. 

(Jack had brought his skates, of course, just in case the opportunity arose.)

Instead, they went for a walk around campus, stopping by _Annie’s_ so Bittle could get a frappucino. Once they got there, everyone else suddenly decided that they wanted one too, and they left Jack outside while they bought their drinks.

Jack had brought his camera with him, and he got it out while he waited for the others. He played with the settings, trying to get them right for the light conditions, and taking a couple of test photos.

When he was satisfied with how the photos were coming out, Jack started flicking through the pictures still on his memory card. He hadn’t taken any since before graduation, and looking back at them now was embarrassing; he still had that photo of a goose on here.

“Hey,” said a voice next to him, and Jack jumped. He hadn’t noticed Bittle coming out of the café. He was the only one who had come out so far, and he was taking slow sips of his drink while looking at the display on Jack’s camera. “These are all from last year?”

Jack nodded.

“You should take photos of the same places today, see how this place has changed in a year.”

“These were all taken in winter and spring, but it’s summer now. Everywhere looks different anyway,” Jack said.

Jack glanced at Bittle in time to see a smile slide from his face, and Jack sighed internally. There was no time to apologise because the rest of the team walked out of _Annie’s_ at that moment, and shouted at them to get going.

Bittle walked towards them immediately and struck up a conversation with Lardo, leaving Jack behind.

They walked south along the river, with Jack trailing behind taking photos. It took him a while to realise that he wasn’t taking photos of whatever caught his eye, like he thought he was, but that everything he was capturing with a click of a button was associated with a particularly vivid memory: that was the tree Shitty tried to climb when he was wasted as a frog and he’d ended up nearly drowning in the river; that was the bridge where he’d ran into Bittle with George that time; the bench over there was where he’d sat when papa had rang to say he was coming up for family weekend back in frog year; he’d walked past that statue with Bittle every time they’d gone to the _Women, Food, & American Culture_ lectures; that other bridge was what Jack had been taking photos of until he realised Bittle was walking across it, so Jack switch to taking photos of the goose on the river; he and Bittle had sat on that wall after a lecture one time, discussing their final assignment…

Lardo was the first person to hang back to keep Jack company. He gave her his camera and she flicked through the photos, nodding here and there, occasionally commenting on how a photo could be better, even pausing to tell him that one photo was really good. Jack looked down to see which she was talking about.

It was one from today. Bittle was leaning on the wall that ran alongside part of the river, looking across at Founder’s. The sun was behind him, and it shouldn’t have been a good picture, but by some stroke of luck Bittle’s profile hadn’t turned out completely black, just put in slight shadow compared with the brightness of his surroundings. The edges of his profile were highlighted a golden colour making it look like he was glowing. It was still possible to see the detail of some of his features, including the small smile he’d been wearing as he’d listened to the others joking around behind him.  

Lardo passed the camera back to Jack, giving him a knowing smile as she did. Jack chose to ignore it, and quickly snapped a photo of her.

“Hey!”

Lardo reached for the camera, but Jack was too quick for her, and lifted it over his head where she couldn’t reach. She jumped up for it while Jack carried on walking towards the others. They’d stopped a short way ahead, and they laughed watching Lardo struggle.

They kept walking south until they reached the history buildings, where they crossed the river and walked up through South Quad, and across Lake Quad to the Beach.

While everyone else rushed to the Beach, awkwardly hopping while taking off their shoes as they went so they could run into the Pond, Jack hung back.

He stared at the statue of the well in the middle of the quad. It was raised on a stone dais, and the brass of the roof glinted in the sunlight. It had been graffitied a lot over the years, and it was still possible to see where the latest hadn’t been cleaned off properly.

It was something that Jack had mostly ignored during his time here, but he paid attention to it now, trying to find a good angle to photograph it from. He walked all the way around it, moving closer and further away from it. Jack thought it looked best with the Pond behind it, and if he moved slightly to the left he could get the others in the background, playing in the shallow end of the lake and unrecognisable in the distance…

Then Bittle wandered into his viewfinder, waving.

“When we get back to the Haus I’m setting up an Instagram account for you.”

Jack lowered his camera. “You know I’m not actually technologically inept, eh? I can do that myself.”

“I know. You just need pushing into doing things you’ll enjoy that aren’t hockey.”

Jack paused, then said slowly, “I don’t think I’ll enjoy people scrutinising my photos along with the rest of my life.”

“But it’s completely anonymous. No one will know it’s you.”

Bittle looked up at Jack, a smile threatening to break out and looking all too eager to start him off on a career as an amateur photographer. The crease between his eyebrows betrayed his confusion at Jack’s reluctance to show off his photos.

Jack sat down on the dais, fiddling with the buttons on his camera before placing it in his lap. Bittle joined him.

“You’re really keen for me to get Instagram and share my photos with everyone.”

Jack tilted his head to look at Bittle, who wasn’t looking at him. He was staring at Chowder, Nursey, and Holster splashing each other in the Pond, and the rest running away, laughing, when the three of them got too close.

“I just… it makes you happy, and I think you should do what makes you happy, and, I dunno, share that happiness.”

Jack thought for a moment. Bittle still wasn’t looking at him, and now he was playing with the skin around his fingernails.

“Would it make you happy if I got Instagram?”

That made Bittle look up, his eyebrows furrowed deeper now.

“I – what? I don’t matter.”

And wasn’t that the biggest lie Jack had ever heard, because of course Eric Richard Bittle mattered. He mattered in the same way everyone mattered, and also in the same way no one mattered. He wasn’t an important politician, or a life-saving doctor, or someone with great influence. He didn’t make decisions that would impact millions of people’s lives, nor was he a role model to thousands. He was a short southern boy from small town Georgia with a heart of gold and family and friends that he meant the world to - with his easy going nature and ability to be cheerful no matter what - and their lives would be a whole lot sadder without him in it. He mattered simply because he existed.

In the grand scheme of things he didn’t matter, of course. In a hundred years no one would remember the names of the doctors who saved people from cancer every day. In two hundred years students would be struggling to remember the names of famous politicians while they studied for their history final the next day. Everyone is forgotten eventually.

But Eric Bittle mattered to Jack, and so he mattered in ways that no one else did. Some days, the only thing Jack looked forward to was talking to Bittle in the evening. He loved hockey, but if there was one thing Jack had learnt, it was that he couldn’t let it be the only thing in his life. Bittle had unintentionally made sure that wouldn’t happen, because he was relentless when it came to caring about his friends. Somehow, he was exactly what Jack needed in his life and hadn’t given up until Jack had realised that.

“You matter,” Jack said, his voice low, serious. “Do you want to be able to see my photos?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll make an account so you can see them when I’m back in Providence.”

“Jack…” Bittle sighed, finally turning to look at Jack.

“No arguments, Bittle.”

Jack looked away. His heart was thumping in his chest. They were so close, their shoulders brushing against the other’s, and Jack could count the freckles on Bittle’s forehead that he only got when he spent too much time in the sun. Jack could do it, right now, just turn his head and kiss him, and turn this uncertain _thing_ that they had into something more. Jack could see Bittle looking at him out of the corner of his eye, could imagine the expectation on his face, which would turn into disappointment the longer Jack didn’t do anything.

Eventually Bittle would look away and Jack would have lost his chance, because he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t make that leap, even though he more than knew that Bittle would welcome it.

Fortunately, the moment was ruined by Nursey running towards them, barefoot and screaming, as Chowder and Holster chased him. They eventually wrestled him to the ground and carried him over to the Pond before throwing him in.

***

Later, when the sun was starting to sink in the sky and Nursey had just about dried off after his dunk in the Pond, they were all sat in small circles on the bank of the Pond. Jack was sitting on a fallen log with his camera out. After taking photos all day, he’d nearly filled up his memory card, and he was going through deleting some of the ones he didn’t like. Bittle sat a little way away, and every now and then he’d glance round at Jack.

Holster came over and sat down next to Jack.

“So. You and Bitty.”

Jack started, and looked around nervously, but no one was paying attention to them, and Holster’s voice was low enough that it didn’t carry in the evening air.

“What about Bittle?”

“Don’t play games, Jack. He hasn’t shut up about you all year, he’s either talking about you or to you.”

Jack sighed. He really didn’t need to have this conversation right now.

But Holster wasn’t finished.

“He’s graduating next year, and he isn’t going to be just 40 minutes away. He’ll go back to Georgia or somewhere else and get a job and you’ll have lost your chance completely.”

“It’s more complicated than that,” mumbled Jack. He’d never directly told Holster that he was interested in guys, but denying that now seemed pointless. That Holster was willing to sit down and have this conversation with him meant that he didn’t have an issue with it. “I’ve hardly seen him or anyone other than my teammates since September. I don’t have time to be in a relationship.”

“But is that because you’ve been spending your evenings talking to Bits? You’re in a relationship, it’s just neither of you know it. Or if you don’t want to make it official, at least let him know you’re interested. You can carry on the way you have been, and then he can move to Providence once he’s graduated. It doesn’t have to be super committed seeing each other every week, just don’t leave him hanging like this.”

Jack fiddled with his camera, and found himself staring at the photo of Bittle that Lardo had pointed out earlier.

***

The next morning, Jack woke up to a pain in his lower back and the sound of shuffling around, as if whoever it was was doing their best to be quiet. It was still dark, and being on the floor meant that all Jack could see were odd dark shapes that didn’t resemble anything. A pair of legs was moving around, and every now and then Jack would see a hand pick something off the floor.

Bittle had point blank refused to let Jack sleep on the green sofa in the den, so they’d ended up creating a make-shift bed on Bittle’s floor out of all the random cushions and spare pillows they could find lying around the Haus. It hadn’t been all that comfortable – hence the back pain – and Jack had questioned the cleanliness of some of the pillows compared to the sofa, but Bittle had seemed happier, and, well…

Anyway, it had been mostly worth it to hear Bittle talking in his sleep.

Jack rolled over to check the time on his phone. It was 5:30 am.

There was the sound of a door opening, and before it could close again, Jack said, “Bittle?”

“Jack?” Bittle whispered. “I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

“No, it’s fine. I’m usually up by now anyway. Where are you going?”

“Um, Faber.”

“You never got up this early for checking practice with me,” Jack said, smiling.

“Well, I’m not going to be pushed into the boards repeatedly when I get there today.”

“Why are you going?”

“I want to practice my figure skating.”

Jack sat up. “Really? Can I come and watch?”

“Sure.”

Jack got dressed in record time, and it wasn’t long before they were walking the familiar route to the ice rink. It felt like the past year hadn’t happened and Jack had woken a grumbling Bittle up for checking practice, except now they were walking beneath clear blue skies, instead of the constant cloud cover, or through the rain. It was still chilly this early in the morning, though, and Jack couldn’t wait to get on the ice to warm up.

They ditched their bags on the team bench and laced up their skates. Jack accompanied Bittle on a couple of warm-up laps of the rink before Jack went back to the bench to get his camera. Bittle had gone flustered when he’d seen that Jack was bringing it, a blush rising on his cheeks, but he’d accepted it when Jack explained that he hadn’t had much practice taking action shots and wanted to try it out.

“Ready?” Jack shouted, getting Bittle’s mp3 player and speakers out of his bag. Bittle was standing at centre ice looking nervous and small on the ice like Jack had never seen him before.

Bittle nodded, and Jack pressed play.

Bittle started off slow, doing small spins and jumps, and giving Jack enough time between them to get his camera in position again. Bittle was going through the motions, and Jack could tell he was thinking through exactly what he was going to do – first this jump, then I’ll show him this spin, and after that I’ll do those other two jumps – and there was no real emotion behind it. It was still amazing to watch, because while Jack had seen glimpses of how graceful Bittle could be on the ice, he couldn’t exactly do _this_ during a match.

But something changed around the time the second song faded into the third, and suddenly Bittle was _gliding_. The outside world didn’t matter to him anymore; he was more relaxed, and doing moves that flowed in time with the music. Jack had a hard time keeping him in the centre of the viewfinder on his camera, and there was a constant _click click click_ of the shutter closing. Bittle made it look so effortless, and as the song drew to a close, he was skating faster and faster until he ended with a spin that made Jack dizzy just watching him.

When he finished, Bittle slowly skated over to the bench and leaned against the wall where Jack had been standing.

“I’m a little rusty, but what did you think?”

“Wow.” Jack was having serious trouble not letting his mouth drop open in awe.

Bittle punched him on the shoulder. “I’m being serious.”

“So am I. You were amazing. Do you want to see the pictures?”

Bittle leaned over the wall to get a good view of the camera. He scrunched up his nose at the first few. “Ugh, my arm is terrible.”

Jack frowned. “It looks fine.”

“No, it’s supposed to be like this –” Bittle stretched his arm out in a position that looked exactly the same as the one in the photo. Jack nodded and moved onto the next photo.

Bittle’s complaints about his technique became less frequent as they flicked through the photos, and his comments switched to complimenting Jack’s photography skills.

“How do you manage to make me look so good?” he asked, staring at a photo of himself mid-jump.

“You always look good on the ice.”

When Bittle didn’t reply, Jack looked up and saw red colouring Bittle’s cheeks.

“I meant – erm – what I – I’ll stop.”

“No, it’s ok. I understand.”

Bittle looked down at the floor. Jack saw his grip on the wall tighten infinitesimally and his jaw set, and Jack thought that Bittle didn’t understand at all. Only, Jack wasn’t that good with words, and he wasn’t sure of the best way to make Bittle understand. They’d already spent months talking, and they’d come so close yesterday at the Quad. Apparently Bittle needed it spelt out for him.

“Come to Montreal with me,” Jack blurted out. He immediately regretted it when he saw Bittle’s face fall in shock, and Jack forced his mouth closed.

“What?”

“I – I… you make me happy, and I know this year you’re going to be busy being a senior, and once the season starts again I won’t have time for anything else but I don’t want you to disappear back to Georgia once you graduate. I want you here. If we can get through this year then you can come and live with me. Come and stay with me and my parents for a few days. You’ve already met them at graduation and they think you’re great. J’ai vraiment besoin de toi dans ma vie, et c'est terrifiant mais je crois que je t’aime et j’ai pas envie d’essayer de vivre sans toi - ” The words fell out of Jack’s mouth without his permission and he felt his face grow hot the more he spoke, but he couldn’t stop until Bittle interrupted him.

“Jack – Jack – that last bit was French.” Bittle was smiling a little, but his voice was full of concern. “Do you need to sit down?”

Jack’s breathing was short and shallow, and he could feel himself shaking. He waited for Bittle to get off the ice before letting him guide him to the bench.

They sat down, and Jack leaned over to hold his head in his hands.

“Désolé.”

“That’s still French.”

Jack cleared his throat. “Right. Sorry. For this, and – and the French.”

“It’s ok.”

Silence. Jack was focussing on his breathing, and trying not to think about how he’d nearly had a panic attack asking Bittle out. He didn’t even want to consider what Bittle must think of him right now. Everything was just so much with him; Jack cared about him too much, and whenever he was talking to him Jack was so much happier. He couldn’t help but completely panic when saying how he felt about him.

“Please,” Jack mumbled eventually.

“I’m not sure what I’m saying yes to,” Jack felt Bittle take his hand from his face and rub circles onto his palm with his thumb, “but yes. Now take deep breaths.”

“Merci.”

Bittle’s laugh was the sweetest sound in the world. “Are you thanking me for agreeing to be your boyfriend?”

“I thought you didn’t know any French, eh?”

“I know that much, and it looks like I’m going to have to learn.”

Jack turned his head to look at Bittle then, and the only word to describe his expression was _soft_. He was smiling, and staring at Jack with bright eyes. He was still rubbing Jack’s palm with his thumb. As Jack watched him, Bittle moved his free hand to cover the one of Jack’s that was still on one side of his face, and he laced their fingers together.

Jack thought Bittle was going to kiss him and his breath stilled in his chest. Bittle didn’t, though. Instead, he stood up, pulling Jack up with him.

“Come on, let’s skate.”

Bittle led Jack onto the ice, and Jack was only too happy to follow.

As soon as Jack got both feet on the ice, he felt calmer. He always knew what was expected of him here, was always able to focus on winning and not let anything else break his concentration. Jack had never told Bittle this, but it came as no surprise that he knew that Jack would feel better when he was skating.

They managed a few laps around the rink before Jack pushed Bittle up against the boards. Bittle made a small sound of surprise that Jack quietened with a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. 
> 
> If you want to see my Check Please ramblings, then you can follow my tumblr: excalibur-red


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